Blood Red

Twenty-five

I tried to forget about it. Really, I did. But it wouldn’t go away. The vision of that odious man and his midnight assignation kept forcing itself between me and everything else I tried to do. And I had plenty on my plate next day, with our guest to look after. Tom dropped a hint about pulling a sickie from school, but I wasn’t having any of that. The year end was approaching and that’s a big time for the kids at every level, so I dug my heels in.

Once he had set off on his bike. . with a promise from his grandpa that the two of them would go shopping for a new one at the weekend. . I took Mac, and Charlie, for a stroll around the village, so that Mac could see it properly, before the holidaymakers and day trippers started to flock in. Yes, he’d been before, but there’s always something you miss. For example there’s the ruined building between the church and Esculapi; he’d never noticed that before. It has nothing resembling a roof, and it’s overgrown, but lots of the outer walls are still there.

‘Who owns it?’ he asked.

‘I’ve no idea,’ I confessed. ‘But somebody does, and if he ever gets the money together to rebuild it as it should be, then it’ll complete the square.’

There are two or three spots like that left in St Martí, ruins with potential, you might say, and worth a bomb, even in their derelict state. I won’t tell you how much I paid for our house, but it’s appreciated mightily in value in the time we’ve owned it, and since it’s very rare for an ‘outsider’ to be able to buy property within the village walls, it’s not going to be affected by any credit crunch.

As we walked along Carrer del Pou towards Plaça Petita, Charlie ran on ahead, sniffing his mates, I guessed, and sure enough when we turned the corner there was Ben, in the process of opening his wine shop, despite the distractions of Cher and Mustard. As soon as I introduced them, Ben sparked. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you know my stepfather, I believe.’

‘That’s right,’ Mac confirmed. ‘Does he know I’m here?’ he asked.

‘Not as far as I know. Why don’t you call in on them? He’ll be pleased to see you. Give him a call first mind; my mum doesn’t like being caught unawares.’ He scribbled an address and phone number on a scrap of paper from a pile on the shop counter. ‘There you are. You know where it is, Primavera. It’s just down the hill from Shirley Gash’s house.’

‘Thanks, I’ll do that. If he’s got over being picked up by the fuzz.’

‘He has now. I spoke to Mum half an hour ago. She told me that he had a phone call this morning from the head of the force, the Director General himself, in person, apologising for. .’ He paused. ‘How did he put it?. . The embarrassment to which he was subjected.’ He grinned. ‘I suppose it’s good to know that the good old British Consul still has some clout these days.’

I winced, even though I tried not to show it, as I wondered how much of that clout had made its way down the line, and round the ear of Intendant Gomez and my friend Alex.

Ben and I chatted for a few minutes about the fair, while Mac explored the stock displayed in stacked-up cubes. I told him that I’d sourced all the tables we were going to need, and the parasols. My next priority, I promised him, would be to go round our identified advance sales outlets, signing them up for the project. ‘Justine’s promised me that the tourist offices will stock them, and the town hall itself. I’ll hit the hotels as soon as I can.’

‘You’re still confident we’ll get advance sales?’ He still had his doubts, clearly.

‘Trust me. It’s a certainty.’ I was keeping my secret weapon to myself. Eventually I’d let him in on it, but I didn’t want to go public too early.

Mac chose a couple of bottles, one red, one white, for dinner, he said; and an ecological cava, even though he had trouble working out why the maker had chosen to market a ‘green’ wine in a blue bottle. As we left the shop and climbed towards the square I saw that one of the church doors was open. It was possible that a florist was in there, setting up for a wedding, but I wasn’t surprised when Gerard stepped out into the daylight. He must have seen us coming from inside.

He wasn’t wearing his priest gear and as he approached us I saw that he had a day-old stubble on his chin. I’m sure Mac assumed that he was the handyman.

‘How goes?’ he said, in Catalan.

‘Fine,’ I replied, in the same language. ‘This is my former father-in-law, Mac Blackstone. He’s been dying to meet you; Tom’s told him all about you.’

‘Sir,’ he exclaimed, in English. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ said Mac, giving him that peculiar angled look he affects when he’s greeting someone for the first time; it’s as if he’s trying to size up their teeth, ‘even if you are trying to lure my grandson into the Catholic faith.’

‘Which you don’t share?’ Gerard’s expression grew cautious as he looked at the unknown quantity before him.

‘Afraid not; the Church of Scotland may not be much of an outfit these days, but it’s the only one I’ve got.’ He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t force it on anyone else, though; I never did with my own kids.’

‘And I won’t try to persuade Tom,’ Gerard promised. ‘I’m pleased to have him help me with no conditions attached.’

Mac turned to me. ‘And how about you, Primavera? You got any preconditions?’

Mischievous old bastard, I thought, but I put on my most gauche expression and replied, ‘Me? None at all. My boy will find his own way through life; that’s the way it should be.’

‘Indeed. Since I got here,’ he checked his watch, ‘what, less than eighteen hours ago, he’s talked about being an actor like his dad, a manager like his mum, a weatherman like his uncle, a golfer like his cousin Jonny, and a dentist like me. He’s an impressionable lad, so what if he decides that what he most wants in life is to become a priest, like his friend Gerard? How would you feel about that?’

Honest to God. . an appropriate expression?. . I had not considered that scenario until that very moment. I was stuck for an answer. For a while, all I could do was frown. ‘Well,’ I began, eventually, ‘I want him to be happy. But if I’m to be honest, and admit to a bit of selfishness, I suppose I do want to be a granny one day.’ I could have been more specific; I could have said that I want my son to live a full life, in every way, including the sensual aspect, and that having done pretty well in that department, especially in my thirties, I felt sorry for anyone who’d missed out. Sure, I could have said that, but it would have been cruel to Gerard.

He bailed me out. ‘I would not worry about that, Senor Blackstone,’ he said. ‘There’s a requirement for the taking of holy orders, and Tom doesn’t pass the test.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked, ready to defend my boy against all charges.

‘We’re required to believe in God. Tom doesn’t, and I don’t expect he ever will.’

‘How do you know that?’

He looked me in the eye. ‘Simple, I asked him.’

‘It’s more than I’ve ever done,’ I retorted. Quite out of the blue, I was angry. ‘Don’t you think you should have asked me before quizzing my son about his religious belief? He’s only eight, Gerard! How can you expect him to have a mature view on the existence of bloody deities?’

‘It’s my job,’ he shot back at me. ‘I’m a diviner of faith in people. It’s usual for me to begin a dialogue with those as young as Tom, to test their attitudes. His is already formed. If there was a God, he told me, he would not have let his father die. Now I agree that he isn’t old enough to grasp the concept that life is full of misfortunes and imperfections, and that only God Himself is perfect, and I didn’t try to explore that with him, but in my view he will be implacable. He will never be able to accept the existence of God.’

‘Then why do you let him help you in church?’ I snapped.

‘Because he’s very good at it.’

‘You mean you’re using him? Well, that’s at an end.’

‘Hey,’ he snapped. Our voices were raised; I was aware, vaguely, that a few people were looking at us but I didn’t give a damn. We were having a full-blown argument, our first ever. ‘You don’t believe in Him any more than Tom does, yet you were quite willing to stand in church alongside Alex Guinart and Gloria and promise to take responsibility for the religious upbringing of little Marte.’

I had moved closer to him; we were no more than two feet apart, eyeball to eyeball. ‘I’m an adult,’ I shouted. ‘That was my choice and it was acceptable to Alex. Tom’s a child, and you’re letting him play a part, probably in the hope of winning him over to your team. But not any more you aren’t. So bugger off!’

‘Primavera,’ Mac exclaimed, ‘calm down. Listen, when Oz was a kid he had a paper round, but that didn’t mean he believed in Robert Maxwell.’

I stared at him; Gerard simply blinked and looked confused, having never heard of the notorious press baron or of his watery fate. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ I challenged.

‘Fuck all,’ he admitted cheerfully, ‘but somebody’s got to get between you two at this point.’ He took me by the elbow, and I allowed him to steer me gently towards the house. ‘Good to meet you, Gerard,’ he said, over his shoulder, ‘but you’ve got a lot to learn about coming between a tigress and her cub.’